Oathbreaker
by CaptainOzone
Summary: NOW A 2-SHOT! Companion fic to Powerfully Modest, Modestly Powerful. Missing Merlin Whump scene from Chapter 7 and a little something extra set after PMMP . No slash.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: IDOM

Rated for language

AN: Hey, all. I felt like I needed to get this one-shot out of my head, so here it is! This is the missing Whump scene from Chapter Seven of Powerfully Modest, Modestly Powerful. ( **WARNING**:** This is NOT a stand alone fic**; I guarantee it will make very little sense if you haven't already read SMN/PMMP) It is rather short, and it is definitely not my best work *grumbles under breath unhappily*... Well, you learn something new every day. What did I learn? I'm a weak Whump writer. :P Please don't get your hopes up for something spectacular because in comparison to the other Whump stories I've read, this doesn't begin to compare, but, in retrospect, I think it fits nicely in with PMMP.

Enjoy.

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><p>Merlin held up the silver band and twirled it in his long fingers, admiring the way the light caught its smooth surface.<p>

He, Leon, Elyan, and Gwen had met at Leon's house, and they all sat lazily around the dining table in his chambers, enjoying the moment of peace amidst the craziness of the preparations, lucky enough to have escaped for the time being. In fact, Lancelot, Percival, and Gwaine were still trapped by their duties, and they would have been there had they not been sent out on patrol.

Imitating Leon, Elyan kicked his legs up and folded his arms behind his head, leaning back dangerously on his chair.

"Don't do that," Gwen snapped like a scolding mother. "You're going to tip over and crack your head open, Elyan."

"I'm not worried; Merlin's here," Elyan sighed laxly and calmly.

Merlin's cheeks flushed, and Gwen rolled her eyes. "He isn't a god, Elyan, and it's a miracle he managed to snatch you from Death once! You shouldn't be looking for another experience like that quite so soon…especially one so foolish."

The reference to the Gvarath's attack normally would have left them somberly brooding, but Leon, easing his two airborne chair legs to the ground, chuckled and lightened the atmosphere by joking, "Yes, death by falling off a chair. You'll be remembered in the pages of history without a doubt, Elyan."

Elyan swatted at Leon half-heartedly, but he too submitted and stabilized his chair. Then, he asked Merlin, whose eyes had not left the ring—his mind was swirling with his ideas on which enchantments to use and how he was going to make them coexist and bind together—"So? Will it do the job?"

Merlin's eyes snapped to the present. He was glad that his friends had forced him to tell them what he was up to; they had proved to be an enormous help, and they loved and encouraged the idea, often adding their own ideas on how the protective charm should work and giving him a more clear picture of which would be the best types of spells to use.

"This is perfect. Thank you."

"Well, thank Gwen. We kind of left it to her to shop for them," Elyan laughed.

"That was probably for the best," Merlin admitted, knowing that these men knew far more about magic than they did about jewelry…and that was saying something.

"Besides, with _your _demands for a 'simple' but 'regal' chain…what the _hell _were we supposed to do with that?" Leon teased.

Merlin smiled his lopsided smile, and he said, "I would hardly call them _demands_…more like necessities."

Elyan huffed. "Necessities? I think you're over-thinking it."

"Would you rather this charm fall into the wrong hands?" Merlin asked, an eyebrow raised.

"No…That is…only if it works the way you want it to," Leon clarified.

Merlin sighed and grumbled, not liking to be reminded of how high the probability was that he would fail, and Gwen said, "C'mon, you two. You know that he's doing this all for Arthur, and this will put our minds at rest...for the most part. And I'll say it again, Merlin: I'm just impressed you've managed to foresee every possible misfortune that you may need to counter."

"Glad to see someone appreciates my genius, Gwen," Merlin said cheekily, laughing and giving the two Knights looks.

"Is that what you call it?" Leon jibed, raising his eyebrows, eyes dancing. Elyan snickered.

"Remind me again," Merlin began thoughtfully, "how long did I manage to keep my secret from you in plain sight? Even with all of those close calls I've had? All the clues and poor excuses? My horrible lying skills?"

"We're all guilty of being blind fools, aren't we?" Gwen asked both guiltily and amusedly.

Merlin hid a wince; he should have known that Gwen would take his words to heart…that she might associate them with an accusation. He knew that she subconsciously felt that she was never the friend that she could have been to him, that she thought that she was letting him down by never guessing or suspecting his true nature or his true self. She felt like she failed him in his greatest times of need. He didn't like having her think like that, not when _he _was the one to blame for his lonesomeness and his semi-isolation; he had been the one pushing away.

Overemphasizing his amusement, Merlin quipped happily, "Pretty much."

Gwen, who saw what he was trying to do, smiled at his efforts and nodded in understanding as the two Knights began to laugh.

"That doesn't make _you _genius so much as us idiots!" Elyan said between snorts.

"Well, we're _all_ idiots in our own way, aren't we?" Merlin said wisely. "You can hardly begin to laugh at others until you learn to laugh at yourself."

"Try telling that to Arthur," Elyan mock-whispered.

Merlin smiled diabolically. "I've been working on that—amongst other things—since I first laid my eyes on the prat."

They shared another laugh, and Merlin saw that the sun had set. He sighed. _Time just flies by when you're having fun, _he thought.

"I should be going soon. Gaius'll be worried," Merlin announced. He rolled his eyes fondly; his uncle was a _mite_ over-protective. "The chain?"

Gwen shook her head with a small smile at his tone and removed a small, cloth-wrapped item from her pocket. "Here," she said, pressing the little bundle into his hand.

Curiously, he unwrapped it and made a small noise of satisfaction. He, like the scoffing Knights, had been pretty sure that it would be hard to find a 'simple,' but 'regal' chain and that to have asked for it had been unreasonable, but it seems he underestimated Gwen.

"How much do I owe you?" Merlin asked, lifting his brilliant eyes from the thin but durable silver chain.

"Are you serious, Merlin?" Leon asked in complete surprise. "You owe us nothing. Don't worry about the price."

Merlin frowned, his pride and sense of righteousness demanding that he protest their refusal. "But—"

Elyan held up a hand. "From what you've told us you're trying to accomplish, Merlin, I know that you're going to be putting a lot of time and effort into this. I know that the magic you're trying to cast is far more complex and difficult than you let on. All of us were happy to contribute to your gift, but the real gift is the magic…not the necklace, the—erm—_vessel_ itself. Really, a few shillings are _nothing_ in comparison."

"But that's only if I can even do it," Merlin muttered to himself, repeating Leon's previous words and glaring at the ring.

If he had wanted to use only one spell of protection, it would be easy, but he was hoping to use a whole manner of powerful protection spells—spells against magic and physical weapons alike—but protective amulets could only hold so much power…and multiple spells cast into one object often did not coexist well. It made them less powerful, less effective, as the different forms of magic struggled for dominance over the other. No, to make the spells work together would be no easy task. It would take a lot of magic, clever intuition, and very complex and creative spell-casting and wordings. Gaius had told him that it was near impossible for a normal sorcerer.

But Merlin wasn't just any normal sorcerer…. He wouldn't have involved the others if he didn't think that there was a decent chance he would be able to do it. Of course, that didn't stop him from worrying that he couldn't.

Gwen shot Leon a 'look-at-what-you-did' look and rubbed Merlin's shoulder sympathetically, but she said, "I can't say that I completely comprehend what you're trying to do—" Merlin had tried to explain it to all of them with little success, but that might have been because he was anything but blunt and to the point. Uninhibited and cheerful, he gushed about every little detail and simplified every concept (though it was very intricate in their eyes) about the separate spells themselves and the act of binding one enchantment to an amulet (he spared them the talk about binding _several _spells, but he did admit the extensive challenges to doing that), leaving them all with an intense headache as they tried to wrap their minds around things that Merlin knew instinctively. He knew that he only confused them further and that the only reason that they didn't stop his exhaustive chatter was because he was obviously so happy talking to them about it, but he had appreciated them trying to listen all the same "—and I cannot begin to understand how much magic it will take, but I _know_ you can do it, Merlin. It is, after all, what you are meant to do."

Merlin gave her a small smile, and he said, still guilty for allowing them to pay for _his_ gift to Arthur, "Are you sure about—?"

"_Yes_, Merlin!" his three exasperated friends interrupted simultaneously. They even timed their eye rolls perfectly, and Merlin, with a sheepish grin, tucked the ring and chain into his pocket.

"Thank you."

They brushed aside his gratitude with easy smiles. "You know, Merlin…" Elyan began, "Why didn't you think to do something like this before?"

Merlin snorted. "Oh, believe me, I did, but how do you think Arthur, who knew nothing of my magic, would react if I gave him a strange, magical ring with no explanation?"

Leon and Elyan exchanged glances, imagining it, and then they burst into hysterics. "Alright, alright, point taken."

Merlin decided to hang around for another few minutes and then finally left, admonishes from Gwen about getting enough sleep following him out.

It was a cloudy night, and Merlin caught a heavy scent of rain in the air. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the cool breeze on his face. No one was out, strangely enough. Merlin would have thought that there would be quite a few people still rushing about to get some last minute things done before they went home, but it appeared that they were just as eager as he to have some peace. So, it was completely silent save for the torches that flared and popped around him as he slunk lazily through the shadows, his mind hardly on where his feet were taking him. His mind wandered haphazardly, and he realized just how tired he was…

Merlin had stalked his enemies and had snuck through these streets so many times, you would think he would know every inch and crevice of it, would respond to every noise and shadow, would catch every break in the rhythm of night; you would think that he would notice himself if someone was stalking _him_. He should.

But he didn't.

He yawned widely, and all previous convictions on starting on his project for Arthur that night disappeared. _So much for that, _he thought to himself sleepily as he trudged up some of the courtyard steps.

Suddenly, Merlin was grabbed forcefully from behind. A strong hand jammed into his mouth to stifle Merlin's yelp of surprise, and another sailed into his stomach, knocking all the air in his lungs. As he struggled for breath, his attacker grabbed his raven hair, wrenching his head back, and exposed his throat to a long, wickedly curved dagger. The shining blade pierced the darkness with its silvery glow, and it descended to rest below Merlin's chin, shivering with the pleasure of feeling his blood chilling beneath its touch, shivering as though it had a mind of its own.

Merlin's lungs burned as his mind tried to catch up with his body's actions, and he felt himself tripping over his feet as the attacker quickly pulled him up the stairs.

"Dammit," a vaguely familiar, rough voice growled in his ear in annoyance. The dagger pressed harder into his throat, and the man landed another punch, but this time on Merlin's rib cage. He could've sworn he felt a rib bend, nearly breaking. "_Walk_."

Merlin's eyesight dotted and spotted from the lack of oxygen, and he felt dizzier than ever. He vaguely knew that the man was leading him through the maze of corridors into the castle, but he was too worried about getting a full lungful of air to really concentrate on where the man was taking him at the moment. A less than logical part of his mind—most likely the part under the influence of oxygen deprivation—told him that there would be time for him to figure that out later.

Merlin finally caught his breath and began thinking clearly again just as the attacker suddenly propelled him into an empty room and bound his hands tightly.

Merlin opened his mouth, but the knife nicked his skin, now drawing blood. He cringed at the feel of it sliding down his neck, into his neckerchief, and down his shirt.

"_Don't_. Say. A—"

Of course, Merlin wasn't going to just _give_ in to his demands or be intimidated by any of his threats. He was, as his friends pointed out often enough, _Merlin_. It was part of his job—an occupational hazard, some might say. He didn't even let the man finish his threat. "What do you want with me?"

Merlin gritted his teeth against a groan of pain as the knife pressed even harder and as the man kneed him in the ribs. Through involuntary tears, Merlin saw the man's bared teeth and wicked smirk from underneath the cowl of the dark cloak. Doubling over, he released a heavy "_oomph,"_ and the man squatted near his face, spitting, "Never did learn how to shut up, did you, _Mer_lin?"

Merlin froze, frowning, a memory toying at his consciousness like a cat pawing its catch. _Who was this man?_

The man threw Merlin to the ground, and on his way down, Merlin—more out of coincidence than anything—clipped the man in the jaw with his boot, and his head hit the stone floor with a sickening crack. He cried out at the shock of it, his vision dotted, and he felt the blood welling up underneath his head.

The man hissed, the only visible part of his strong jaw clenching tight with rage as he rubbed it, a dark bruise forming. With a roar, he pulled off Merlin's boot, taking the sock with it, and took the other one off as well.

Without hesitation, the man smashed his riding boot heel into Merlin's bare foot, breaking the skin and forcing a few of his toes to crack sickeningly. He refused to scream—he wasn't going to give his attacker the satisfaction—but he was ashamed to say that he did whimper. He forced his eyes away from his mutilated foot and bit off the whimper nearly as soon as it began. He had had far worse.

No one would break him.

"Can't have you running to save your Prince, now can we, bastard?" the man said, placing one of his boots on Merlin's chest to keep him down. The sharp heel cut into him.

Merlin had felt the urge to use magic rise in him, but he pushed back at it, suddenly afraid at his words. "Arthur?" he said dangerously, his eyes hardening. "What do you want?"

"Always playing the hero, Merlin," the man sighed mockingly, twisting and digging his boot. A feral smile spread across his thin lips at Merlin's winces. "That may one day get you killed."

A shiver ran down Merlin's spine at his sudden déjà vu. "What the hell do you want?" he repeated.

"Hm. You've changed, haven't you?" the man mused. "I remember you as being more of a smart ass. I remember…oh, I remember very well, and I will never forget. Don't you remember? You were just a freak then, in Ealdor, a bastard freak with a sharp tongue and fancy words and nothing to show for it. Don't you remember that little piece of wisdom that you offered me…just before you ruined my life? You once told me that I shouldn't make enemies out of friends and friends out of enemies." He laughed without a trace of humor. "Well, it certainly looks like you're eating those words now, eh, _whelp_?"

Merlin froze in recognition and whispered, "Sa—Samuel?"

The man threw back his hood (Merlin would think later that he did it extremely dramatically) and revealed his face. As he playfully and casually flicked the knife in and out of Merlin's eyesight, he removed his boot and bent down so that Merlin could see his face in full.

He had long, tangled, and greasy blonde locks and a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice in the course of his lifetime. His eyes…one was black as pitch. It didn't shine, but it burned with an evil fire of vengeance. The other… the other was milky white. Blind. A long, hideous scar cut diagonally across his forehead, traveled through his blind eye, and wrapped about his mouth in a way that forced his lips into a permanent grimace.

It had once been a handsome face.

The memories struck him with full force. He remembered a large-eared thirteen year old boy—shy and sensitive, eccentric and rather odd—being verbally bullied. He remembered his mother's words, her fierce eyes as she told him that words could never hurt him so long as he was proud of who he was…she told him that it was braver to stand up for himself by smiling through it all, rather than fighting, and he remembered taking those words to heart. He remembered struggling to force his magic away so that he wouldn't harm them, so that he wouldn't reveal himself, but he remembered being unable to control his insolent tongue. When his wit got him in trouble and when they moved to physical abuse, he remembered hiding the fact from his mother, taking their abuse without fighting back for fear of losing control; he remembered another young lad standing up for him, insulting their pride and honor with sharp, harsh words; he remembered the lead bully, the son of the neighboring village's richest man, black eyes arrogant and devilish, pushing the defiant boy to the ground, brutally beating him as they never had beaten the other strange, stormy-blue-eyed boy before. He remembered their jeers and their 'punishments;' he remembered his tears and his soulful pleas for peace. He remembered the horrifying thrill of losing control of his magic in fear for Will. He remembered the rocks…falling, crashing; he remembered the blood…and his mother's warm embrace, which hardly released him from the prison of awful guilt that consumed him.

It had been his fault.

That was the day that he nearly killed a confused, neglected boy. That was the day he nearly lost his best friend. That was the day that Samuel learned to truly hate someone with every ounce and fiber of his body—no, he did not know Merlin's secret, but he knew in his twisted mind that Merlin, somehow, someway, was the cause of that rock-fall.

Samuel wasn't wrong. _It had been his fault._

"Good, you remember," Samuel laughed. "You remember what you did to me, and you know _exactly_ what I want." He loomed even closer to Merlin's face, breathing alcohol into his face. "I've been waiting a long time for this," the man hissed, "and now I'm getting paid to do it. Power-hungry, treasonous cowards drive a wonderful bargain, don't they?"

_Idiot, Merlin_! His clouded mind shouted. _You should've been with Arthur! You should've known that this might happen_!

"_Godwin!_" Merlin spat vehemently, rage rising up in him at the coward's treason, trying to move. He was rewarded for his squirming with a slash of cold metal and a splash of blood across his collarbone.

The assassin—there was no doubt that he was an assassin now—bared his teeth again in that perverted grin of joy at Merlin's discomfort. "Mmm. I was only too happy to take up his job offer."

"You will never hurt, Arthur," Merlin vowed strongly.

Samuel smirked and kicked Merlin in the ribs with his steel-toed boots; this time, Merlin felt a few of them snap, and the only sign of his pain were his screwed eyes and his heavy exhale.

"Apparently," the one-eyed man said, acting as though Merlin had not spoken, "Arthur is going to be our doom. Apparently, the Prince and his manservant are changing things…and sometimes, we don't like change. We don't need it. I've heard mutterings of the Prince giving power to weaklings and collaborating with sorcerers. Well, I certainly don't want that. No. Our Prince is an _idealist_," he spat. "Those type are dangerous to Camelot."

"No, the only dangerous type I see are the ones blinded by ignorance and the ones corrupted by vengeance and power," Merlin retorted. "And you're one of them."

Samuel's black eye flared with rage, and he kicked Merlin once again in the gut. "Ah, _there's _the smart ass," the man said. "I knew it was still there. But…a smart-mouth isn't going to save your Prince from his fate, now is it, Merlin?"

Merlin spat blood from his mouth, and he glared at Samuel. He opened his _aura_-eyes involuntarily, but he already knew that this man was too far for him to reach…he was lost, and he was never going to be found again.

"You know _nothing_ of his fate," Merlin muttered, his voice adopting a deep, powerful timbre. "And to even assume you know is _laughable_."

"Oh, but I know too well," the assassin said cockily with mock-sadness. "He is going to die tonight, and that is all because you weren't there to get in the way.

"I've heard a lot about you, Merlin. I've heard that you're a pain in the ass who seems to always burst in and ruin everything for everyone. That's why my…_employer _encouraged me to have some fun with you before heading to visit Arthur. But there have been other more interesting things. I've heard that you are the Prince's most trusted friend and that your loyalty supercedes all. I've heard that you've saved his life, and I've heard that you would give anything to protect him.

"Now," Samuel shifted his grip on the dagger, "Let's just see how true it is. How much blood are you willing to give to the Prince, Merlin? I'm quite curious to see how long it takes to break you. You! A farm-boy from Ealdor! A wimp of a manservant, the great Arthur Pendragon's savior!" He wiped at tears that didn't exist. "Oh, revenge and treason—such a sweet combination. And what a thrill!" He laughed, and it was a laugh cold enough to freeze hell.

The gloating was over, and Merlin knew he had to act and act _now._

Merlin lunged at the man's legs, knocking him to the ground and somehow gaining the upper-hand. He cast his mind around for a spell to use without the man noticing, but they were too close to each other; Merlin knew that he would see the tell-tale glowing eyes…But it wasn't like it mattered anyway. Merlin was weak from pain, his hands were bound, and to complicate things, Samuel was much more skilled, his physique was a lot bulkier, heavier, and stronger than Merlin's. Then, of course, he had a knife.

And he certainly knew how to use it.

Samuel easily got Merlin under control and in swift, skilled movements, hiked his blood-soaked neckerchief up to Merlin's mouth to use as a gag before he began wrestling, punching, and slashing at the warlock's ribcage with his long knife, completely shredding his blue shirt and tearing into his skin, smiling viciously all the while.

Fists seem to come out of nowhere as they pounded and landed on his torso, stomach, arms, and legs. In his blurry vision, the knife looked like a never-ending shooting star, and its blazing tail touched him more often than the rock-hard fists.

Merlin tried calling up magic several times, but with the raining inferno of flailing fists and shooting stars and with his now extensive blood loss and heavy head, he hadn't the chance to concentrate on much more than the next hit and the resulting pain.

Finally, the storm of blows ceased, and Merlin, his throat protesting, head pounding, body stinging, was smothered by a heavy fog and wanted nothing more than to sink into sleep, where the pain would disappear. He gasped and panted, trying not to move anything. Really, was there any need to move or get up? Any point…?

He was jolted alert by Samuel's cruel and wiped his dagger on the remnants of Merlin's shirt. "Well, that _was _a good time. Let's see how the Prince takes his dose." Merlin felt something stir in him, an emotion that even the greatest of poets couldn't hope to explain with words, and he remembered. _Arthur…_

"And after that," Samuel lowered his lips to Merlin's ear, "perhaps I should go visit Hunith in Ealdor. I think she'd like to hear how her son died from his own murderer."

Chuckling darkly, the man flung up his jade green hood and quietly slipped away.

Sweat and blood covered Merlin. He smelt its sickly sweet coppery scent, and he felt its sticky wetness. His gag was soaked with the stuff, and he wanted to vomit. He felt so sick, so woozy, and so exhausted. He felt that he couldn't move a limb, that he couldn't summon the energy to so much as to blink his eyes.

But…_Arthur…._

He had to. For Arthur. His eyes flickered with powerful gold rivulets and undercurrents, and suddenly his magic surged throughout his limbs, giving him the necessary strength. Perhaps it was a bit of survival instinct, and the magic was acting of its own accord; perhaps he had unwittingly called the magic himself. I didn't matter; what mattered was that he had the determination, the willpower, the stubborn head, to get up...to save Arthur, jail that poor, mentally unstable ex-bully, and stop Godwin from getting away with this.

He took a deep breath, and he began to move as swiftly as he possibly could. He did not know it then—mostly because his paranoia and fear for Arthur had already possessed his mind, body, and soul—but the rage of Emrys simmered deep within him.

The oath-breaker was going to rue the day that he dared harm Arthur Pendragon under the watch of Emrys. The oath-breaker was going to rue the day that he dared prevent destiny.

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><p>AN: I hope it was somewhat acceptable. If you have any suggestions, suggest away. :)<p>

Hugs, Oz


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: IDOM

An: Hehe, about this. I couldn't stop myself. I wanted to add this, and I know a few will be happy to see it. It's not really anything riveting, and it has no real straight-forward purpose...I would classify it as "fluff." I, along with a few others *cough-ForIHaveOvercomeTheWorld-cough*, felt that there needed to be some bromance to add to the "whump" in the first chapter. I hope it works for you!

**This part jumps ahead in time and is set AFTER the events of PMMP.**

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><p>Arthur hesitated at the top of the dungeon stairs, pacing away and then back again, part of him wanting to press forward and another knowing that being there wasn't a good idea.<p>

By now, the two men had heard from the guards that they were both being sentenced to death for treason against Camelot, and they probably had heard that their efforts to kill the young King had not swayed him in the slightest from the path he had chosen. _Considering that_, Arthur thought sarcastically, _I am probably the last person that those treasonous dogs want to see._

He thought back on the night when he was nearly assassinated. He cringed to remember Merlin's broken, bloody body and his incredible panic at the sight of his fluttering eyelids and the sound of his haggard breathing, but he pushed the gory image away, instead deciding to marvel at the boy's resilience despite the pain of being beaten half to death and his determination to keep him safe.

Arthur hated them for what they did to his friend, and there was an immature part of him that was glad he was punishing them for what they did to Merlin when, in reality, it was what they _almost_ did to him that mandated their execution.

He wasn't going down to gloat, far from it. While he felt nothing but contempt for the two men and had hardly a trace of pity for their upcoming death, he still felt embarrassed and exasperated by the whole incident, and he wished more than anything that it hadn't happened and that he didn't have to execute them. It was something he really wished he didn't have to deal with so early into his kingship, especially so soon after he had removed the ban on magic. But he had to make it clear where he stood, and they had made it clear that they stood opposite him. Besides, neither he nor Merlin was safe with them alive, and by extension, Camelot herself wasn't safe.

They were oath-breakers, after all, and there was no room for forgiveness when dealing with someone as dangerous as an oath-breaker.

No, though he couldn't help but feel smug that he had trumped corruption and ignorance, he didn't want to gloat. There was some part of him that felt he _had _to go see them, that he had an obligation and a duty to see them. He also wanted to see if they would have any remorse or if they would fling themselves at the bars like starved wolves in an attempt to rip his throat out. Then there was that other part, that undeniable curiosity.

He knew he shouldn't; he knew that if Merlin had wanted him to know, he would have told him himself. He knew that it would probably be a better idea to ask his Court Sorcerer before trying to hear from others. He knew enough from Merlin's tone that night that it probably wasn't something he wanted to hear.

But he also knew that Merlin would be far more tight-lipped about his past, and Arthur _was_ curious.

Merlin didn't know about this, and if he had, he wouldn't let Arthur go without him…if he _let_ Arthur go in the first place. In fact, he wasn't even in the castle; he had left to visit Kilgharrah about his less-than-prudent, but rather inspiring appearance on Arthur's coronation day. Arthur wished he could have gone to see the golden dragon as well, but Merlin, in a teasing way, said that he'd rather make this visit alone, promising to bring the King along next time.

Arthur respected that. It made sense that the young man would want to talk with another magical being about what he was feeling and what he had experienced the past day. He, Gwen, Gaius, and the Knights understood more than anyone what Merlin must have been going through, but it was Kilgharrah that understood far more than they could. Merlin needed that, and Arthur believed it would be good for him to get away from Camelot for a few hours.

It was quite overwhelming, even for Arthur. The people saw Merlin use magic for the first time at the bonfire the night before. Arthur had felt the weight of the stares all around him and the abrupt stops in conversation as the pair came near. In fact, everyone in attendance seemed to still and hold their breaths when they realized it was Merlin Emrys, their new Court Sorcerer, standing hooded next to their King. Their reactions to the memorial were mostly compromised of overpowering awe tinged with a little fear, but he supposed there were no _real_—er—violent problems because Merlin had done very beautiful, jaw-dropping magic to try to distract them from their unease. It had the desired effect, but it also reminded them that there was a very powerful man amongst them. It had been almost counter-productive, but it was worth a shot, and it was the best memorial to the dead innocents that Arthur could have ever hoped for.

And then Merlin had braved walking the streets with Arthur earlier this morning. Arthur had tried to persuade his new Court Sorcerer to lay low for a little while and let them come to terms with everything, but Merlin had laughed off his efforts.

"C'mon, Arthur!" he had said. "No matter how uncomfortable I feel about it, I won't hide from them. And if I can't do it, they'll _never_ be able to. They need to see that I'm no threat to them, and they need to learn to trust me…And _I _need to show them that I'm still…_me_."

Silence and stares had followed the King and warlock along the sunny streets of Camelot, and Arthur had joked under his breath, "At least none of them are charging at us with torches and pitchforks."

Merlin laughed and ignored the rather insensitive people well, and he chattered away as normal, tripping and loping as gawkily as he always had. However, not all of the townspeople were nervous and cold. He had gotten quite a shock as multiple people came up to thank him for everything that he'd done, much to Arthur's bewildered glee.

There was one ice-breaking moment when a young child came bursting out of a nearby house, cradling a severely cut hand to her chest, tears staining her cheeks. She slumped against the side, crying. When her mother followed her out and worriedly tried to wash the cut palm with a wet rag, the girl struggled against the woman and tried to avoid the sting of the cold water on her wound.

Arthur wasn't surprised at what happened next.

Not acknowledging or perhaps even forgetting of the amount of eyes watching him, Merlin had adopted a look of genuine concern in his stormy blue eyes and had immediately gone to them. The woman flinched away from him with a look of cautious fear, but he spoke calmly to her and smiled his lopsided smile. Finally, the wide-eyed woman relaxed slightly and nodded, and Merlin knelt by the girl and said, "I'm going to heal your cut. It'll feel like a bug crawling up your hand, but don't be afraid."

And so he did, the woman nearly having a heart-attack at the sight of Merlin's suddenly golden eyes. The child, however, her teary brown eyes filled with amazement, watched with rapture and remained silent as the skin on her palm wiggled up over the jagged kitchen knife cut.

"Oh…my…" the woman breathed, a hand on her chest. She looked at Merlin with a shining gratitude. "Thank—thank you."

Merlin blushed and said, "You're welcome."

The little girl, who had been touching her palm as if testing whether the new skin was real or not during their exchange, hugged Merlin and laughed, babbling, "Could you do more magic, Merlin Emrys? Show me! Show me!"

"Mara!" the woman scolded, taking her hand, glancing at Merlin to gauge if he was offended or not. "I—I'm sorry…"

"No, don't be," Merlin said. To the little girl, Mara, he said, "Alright, I'll do one trick before the King throws me in the stocks for getting distracted."

From where he was watching, Arthur snorted, and in a very un-king-like way teased back, "And I'm to believe that you'd allow me?"

"Only if I really deserved it."

"You never believe you deserve it."

To both Arthur and Merlin's satisfaction (they had long since realized that their banter was a secret weapon to soothing tense and awkward situations), Mara's mother lost the tension in her shoulders and began to giggle, and she, with just as much eagerness as her daughter, watched as Merlin conjured a white flower and placed it into her chubby hands…

With that one flower and that one healed wound, and by simply being himself, Merlin had unintentionally proven exactly what he wanted. The witnesses began to drop their fear and began to replace it with trust, and as the wind carried the tale, the others began to do the same.

Arthur saw the proof in their eyes.

The young King sighed. His friend had been on a hell of an emotional ride the past week, and he wished he could do more to help him through it. Merlin was strong enough to pull through most of the way—he had to be to keep his secret for so long—but there was only so much he could take and only so much Arthur could help him with…hence, his visit with Kilgharrah. It occurred to Arthur that Merlin might be a little confused as to what he was really meant to do now—save protecting Arthur (that was something that was _never_ going to change)—seeing as he had just recently accomplished everything he had ever dreamed of.

Did Arthur really need to distress Merlin at this time by possibly learning about something he didn't want to share with his King?

He almost turned back…but then, with gritted teeth and pursed lips, his conscience trying to guilt-trip him into going back to bed, Arthur took a torch and started down to the cells.

Arthur never liked the dungeons. They were too enclosed, dark, and completely filthy. Rats squealed in the walls and ceiling, and sometimes you heard the pitter-patter of their little feet. There seemed to be an everlasting and eerie chill in the air, and it smelled like a mixture of horse-stable and death. The familiar shiver ran down his spine as he stepped up to the single cells. He also didn't like visiting them because there was usually a bad memory involved. In fact, Arthur was sure that he had a little claustrophobia because of these dungeons.

Godwin and Samuel were in separate cells. Arthur wasn't surprised to see that the fat, pudgy Lord was sleeping, snoring lightly as though he hadn't a care in the world. Arthur paused and moved the torchlight away, a bit disgusted at the calm peace on the Lord's face, and he began to walk past some empty cells, searching for where Samuel was kept.

"I was wondering if you'd come."

Arthur nearly had a heart attack, and he jumped in surprise, nearly dropping his torch. He directed the light over to the furthest cell, where his assassin, Samuel, was sitting straight-backed on a stool, watching the rain fall outside his tiny barred window.

The man tilted his head towards Arthur slightly, exposing more of his bruised jaw—courtesy of Merlin—and the glint of his beetle-black eye, and then he said, "So…it appears our King has come to gloat on the eve of my death. I feel so honored."

"I haven't come to gloat," Arthur said, not appreciating the man's bitter sarcasm in the slightest. He hid another sigh. It appeared that this wasn't going to be pleasant confrontation, and that he wasn't going to leave satisfied after this combative verbal spar.

"You're gloating by just standing there…_alive_," the man disagreed venomously. "And then you have the _audacity_ to honor the bastard that ruined it all."

"_Merlin_—" Arthur began to say.

Samuel growled at the name, and said in an alternating falsely cheerful and wrathful voice, "You know nothing of what he's done. You say he's honorable, loyal. You insist that his _curse, _his magic—I was a _fool_ not to see it!—is a gift…something that will bring Camelot into a glorious age. You say that he's your friend, but I know the truth. Magic is evil, and he is evil. You say you trust him…"

Suddenly, Samuel turned to face Arthur, and Arthur, for the first time (he had been a bit too preoccupied to notice when he had knocked the man unconscious) saw that the man had a horrid scar that laced across the whole of his face, blinding him in one eye and turning his lips upwards in a permanent scowl. Arthur recoiled slightly.

"Yes, your precious _Merlin _did this to me. Did he not tell you? We were practically _brothers_, Pendragon."—the way he said it made Arthur believe that they were anything but 'brothers'—"My village was only a kilometer up the way from Ealdor—I hear that my village is no longer there, but no matter. We still grew up together. He wanted revenge for something I did—I meant nothing by it, really; I was only a fourteen year old, just having some fun—and what did the little freak do? I realize now that he used his magic to cause those rocks to fall. He nearly took my life with his magic. Some said I was lucky that I was alive, and perhaps I should be thankful that he only managed to take my eye, but it would have been better if he _did _kill me. What life is this? I cannot work, cannot support myself, cannot find a wife…not with this!" He pointed to his pearly white eye. "I only hope you don't anger him. I'm sure your so-called _trust_ would just vanish…" he suddenly laughed hysterically, "As though by magic.

"I hope for your sake you know what you're doing, Pendragon," he snorted. "He's a slippery bastard—he kept this from you. Who knows what _else_ he keeps from you? Well, I suppose you'll just have to find out."

He sneered and spat on the floor. "I don't regret what I did to him. I'm sorry to see the freak still alive; I'm sorry to see _you_ still alive…but I have to say, I'm rather grateful I'm not going to be seeing Camelot fall apart by your stupidity and by his hand. So, Pendragon, I suppose I should thank you for that." He bowed mockingly, his black eye glinting maniacally.

Arthur, completely disturbed, frowned and tried to sheathe his fiery rage, and finally, he said steadily, "You don't know the man I know, and you never had. I can't say that I know the truth about all that he's done with his magic, and I can't say that I know about his past, but I know enough about him _now_ to know that your story, while rooted in truth, is nothing short of a lie. I pity that you never found a friend in him. He is truly a good one."

Samuel snarled and threw himself at the bars as Arthur turned away, shrieking wordlessly and swearing all the while.

Arthur did not show any emotion until Samuel's noises of rage and madness were far behind him, and it was only then that he began to tremble.

He often accused Merlin of insanity, but he knew that was just in jest. Merlin, after all, had a brilliant sort of insanity. He had seen enough that week—from the Gvarath, to the auctioneer Bulin, to the assassin Samuel—to know what true insanity was, and he hoped that he would never have to see anymore of it and hoped that Merlin never truly lost his mind in the same way _those_ monsters did. Real insanity was frightening.

_Merlin had brought about the monster in Samuel_, Arthur thought before he could stop himself.

He sagged against the wall briefly, angry at himself for coming, and rubbed his forehead. He knew this hadn't been a good idea. Now it was going to gnaw at his mind until he talked to his lanky friend.

Just as he found the will to move and began to mount the stairs, a small call of "Sire" had him backtracking.

It was Godwin. Godwin, who had sworn that he'd_ never_ respect Arthur as his King.

The fat man was sitting up in bed, and there were fresh tears in his eyes. Suspecting that the man was going to beg for his life, Arthur began to adopt a stern, cold face and turn back, but Godwin, who knew that that's what Arthur expected, said, rather awkwardly, "Sire. Please, I don't wish to keep you any longer, but listen… I—I heard about your speech; the guards spoke highly of it…and they relayed it in great detail. I just—I just really hope that I was wrong about your decisions, and I hope that you're right."

Arthur, shocked that the proud noble had humbled himself to him, tried to stutter a response, but he was stopped by Godwin, who continued, "The boy called me an oath-breaker. I don't disagree. I may not like what you're doing, and I may not like him, but I grudgingly admire you both for it all. I'm sorry it took treason, imprisonment, and an approaching death to realize...that it might have turned out for the better."

Godwin found he couldn't continue, and he averted his dim eyes, a flush crawling up his pale cheeks in embarrassment.

His brow scrunched, Arthur switched the torch into his left hand, and held out his right to the Lord. The Lord's eyes widened, and hesitantly, he met the hand half-way.

The King and the oath-breaker gripped arms respectfully and released.

Arthur did not forgive him—Godwin knew it—but it was a gesture that restored some form of honor to Godwin. By the look in Godwin's eyes, that was all he needed.

~…~

Arthur wasn't really aware that he was heading towards Gaius's chambers until he was in the corridor housing the physician, and he only realized it because he saw a hooded man—Merlin, obviously, in his midnight blue cloak; Arthur saw those blue eyes shining even from across the hall—quietly wander from the other direction and enter Gaius's chambers without looking once towards Arthur.

_He must really be deep in thought to not notice me, _Arthur thought concernedly. He had unintentionally walked this way to talk with the warlock, but now, Arthur wondered if it would be better to wait until the next day…

And what? Get no sleep that night because this was bothering him more than it should? Just straighten this out the next morning? Dwell on it when Merlin knew nothing of his snooping? No, it wasn't respectful to Merlin. He, if anything, deserved to know he knew.

Resignedly, he walked the rest of the way to Gaius's doors, knocked lightly out of courtesy, and opened the door. "Merlin, I—"

He stopped at the sight in front of him.

Merlin's hood had fallen, revealing his messy, tousled raven-hair, and he was embracing a short woman, whose hair was nearly as dark as his own. Her face was buried into his chest, and her short sobs were not ones of misery and tragedy but of the utmost happiness. Merlin was murmuring comfortingly to her and kissing her head as she blubbered and repeated, "Oh, my boy… My boy."

Even with her face hidden, though her dark locks were accompanied by more gray than he remembered, Arthur would know the voice anywhere. It was Hunith.

Gaius, who was standing aside watching the reunited mother and son, motioned for him to keep quiet, and both the physician and King watched, a lump rising in his throat, as Merlin and Hunith swayed together in a heart-touching sort of mother-son dance. Merlin was smiling with his eye-crinkled smile, and though his eyes were closed, Arthur saw a few tears leak out of the sides. They were simply sharing the moment, reveling in their amazement at victory and release from fear.

Arthur felt that it was so personal that he had hardly any right to watch them, and he felt a small twinge of sadness for seeing them together so happy. He knew that was because he had never had a mother to embrace like that. He pushed his self-pitying thoughts aside, instead allowing himself to be filled with happiness for his friend.

When Hunith finally stilled her breathless sobs and pulled away, she looked over Merlin lovingly, a few tears overflowing silently, and she ruffled his already very messy hair. It was amusing to see her, being so short in comparison to her lanky son, reaching up to do it.

"You need a haircut," she teased breathlessly.

Merlin squirmed and protested, "_Mum_…"

That's when Hunith's clear, light-colored eyes landed on a grinning Arthur, and suddenly, her tears began to slide down her face with a vengeance once again.

"Sire!" she cried, rushing to him and throwing a bone-crushing hug at him.

Merlin smirked at Arthur's embarrassment as he hugged her back, enjoying the contact, but not really understanding the reason for it. His cheeks burned with a rose-pink color.

"Thank you, Sire. Thank you," Hunith whispered to him. "It—I really can't thank you enough for…all that you've done. I can't believe—It really is a dream come true…thank you."

Arthur smiled kindly. "Arthur, Hunith," he corrected.

"Arthur, then," she agreed, squeezing him once more before withdrawing. "Thank you."

"No, thank you. For sending him here all those years ago."

Eyes shining, Hunith's lips twitched into a knowing smile, and she said, "Congratulations, dear. I wish I could have been here for the coronation, Arthur, but I was too late and couldn't get into the city…but I've heard about it…and…well," she began crying again. "I never expected this. When you came to Ealdor to help us, I saw the bond between you and Merlin, but I _never_ expected—_Thank _you for accepting him."

Arthur blushed again. "After all that he's done, I could hardly do otherwise. You should be proud of him."

Her clear eyes wandered to Merlin. "I am. So proud. You've grown up so much, Merlin."

Merlin blushed. "Thanks, Mother."

Hunith suddenly ran her hands through her hair and released a shaky breath. "After all these years of hiding…"

"You certainly must have had trouble with this one," Arthur said teasingly, inviting himself further into the room, nudging Merlin in the shoulder with his own. "He must have been a handful."

Trying to fight a smile, Merlin snapped, "Hey, now!"

Hunith laughed. "Oh, you wouldn't believe—Merlin!"

Panicked by her sudden tone switch, Arthur's gaze moved to Merlin, and he saw the _aura_-magic in his eyes. Obviously, Hunith had noticed too.

"Oh, um…It's…well," he exchanged a look with Arthur, "It'd be easier to show you." He took a hold of his mother's hand, and she gasped as she saw what he was seeing. "I didn't even realize I was, but I wanted to see yours," he explained sheepishly.

"Is—is that…?" she asked, looking around herself, Merlin, Arthur, and Gaius with wonder.

"He can read _auras, _Hunith," Gaius said.

"They're beautiful," she murmured.

Merlin released his mother's hand and blinked the magic away.

"I think there have been a few things that you've left out of your letters, young man," Hunith said with a false-sternness.

Merlin rubbed the back of his neck. "Well…I didn't want you to get worried…"

"I'm _always_ worried about you." She looked over to Arthur, "But I shouldn't so much anymore, should I?"

Arthur snorted. "Well, he may be a powerful warlock and he may seem to wiggle himself out of as many tight spots as a easily as a snake, but your son has an unfortunate habit of sticking his nose where it doesn't belong and getting into trouble."

"Not that you're any better," Merlin countered pointedly.

"True," Arthur admitted, suddenly remembering the reason he came in the first place.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you two brothers," Hunith laughed.

"He is," Arthur and Merlin said simultaneously, much to the joy of the mother and physician.

Arthur coughed, breaking eye contact with Merlin, and he said, "Well, I'll leave you to catch up, Merlin, Hunith, Gaius. You haven't seen each other in a long time. Will you all join me at breakfast tomorrow? I'm sure you'd love to meet my Knights, and I'm sure that they'd love to meet you…"

Merlin groaned. "I should probably warn—er—_prepare_ you for Gwaine, Mum…"

Arthur laughed and finished his request, "Gwen also would love to see you again. It would be a pleasure."

"Of course," Hunith beamed cheerfully. Merlin and she had very similar smiles. "You're like family to Gaius, Merlin, and I, Arthur." Arthur felt a lump return to his throat again at her words. "Really, you don't have to—"

"No, I don't want to intrude," Arthur said a bit too quickly.

Merlin raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "You know all of us don't care if you join us…wait…" His eyes suddenly widened and became serious. "Did something happen? Why did you come to find me in the first place? Is it about Kilgharrah?"

Arthur swore to himself. _Stupid, dumb, observant idiot_.

Knowing he was caught out, he said, "Well—erm—I went to visit Godwin and Samuel in the dungeons."

Hunith's eyes narrowed at the name Samuel, and her eyes flickered to Merlin, who had frozen.

"Was it…?" she began.

Merlin nodded mutely, hiding his conflicted eyes and sitting down hard on a bench. "He told you?" he asked Arthur softly, pain in his voice.

Arthur hated bringing this to Merlin now, just when he had reunited with his mother. He sat across from him and started, "Well, he told me something."

Arthur related Samuel's rant and then told him about Godwin; Merlin's head was in his hands for most of the time, but it was obvious he was listening, judging by his flinches.

Hunith rubbed his shoulder sympathetically said, "Merlin, dear, you _know_…"

"I did cause that rockfall, Arthur," Merlin interrupted, his blue eyes tortured. "Samuel was right. It was my fault…I lost control…"

"Why?"

"Why?" Merlin repeated dully. "Does it matter so much _why_? What only matters that it happened."

Before Hunith could chastise him, Arthur scolded, "Listen to yourself! You know more than anyone that that isn't true!" He received a look of gratitude from Hunith.

Merlin's eyes seemed to bore through his soul before he finally sighed and said, "I was a…strange child, Arthur. Well, stranger than I am now, anyway."

"I hardly doubt that," Arthur muttered under his breath.

Merlin cracked a smile, and before he could continue, Hunith revealed the truth, spinning Merlin's experience in Ealdor into words—words full of morality, nobility, bravery, and loyalty.

Everything that Arthur knew about his Court Sorcerer, about his friend, every value and quirk that Merlin had portrayed throughout the years that Arthur held most dear, was reinforced and intensified as he listened.

He was in awe all over again.

Merlin finished the tale himself. "I didn't mean for it to happen, and I didn't want to hurt him like that," Merlin said, his blush still visible at his mother's telling, "But if they continued any longer, they would have killed Will."

"Nothing like that is going to happen again," Hunith said confidently, kissing her pale son's brow. Arthur nodded in firm belief, and Merlin brightened.

"Your control is more advanced than most sorcerers, Merlin," Gaius added.

"Except when I'm as drunk as a sailor," Merlin muttered.

Arthur roared with laughter as Hunith gave him a look of disapproval and as Gaius rolled his eyes.

Arthur wiped his eyes, gripped Merlin's shoulder, and looked into his slightly tortured eyes. "I'm sorry to reopen old wounds, Merlin…but you should know, I'm very glad that I'm on your good side," he teased.

Realizing that, though Arthur had silent through most of the tale, he didn't think poor of him for losing control like that, he grinned lopsidedly.

"Not that I think you have much of a bad side."

"Is that you calling me a girl again?"

Arthur mockingly took a hold of Merlin's arm and pretended to feel for muscles. "With these arms? Yes, I think I am."

Merlin grinned diabolically, and suddenly, Arthur was hanging upside down.

Ever the mother, Hunith yelled, "Merlin! You may be the Court Sorcerer, and he may be your friend, but he's still the King!"

"C'mon, Mum. He deserved it! He was being a prat."

"Idiot," Arthur responded automatically, crossing his arms.

There was a silence, and the four burst into laughter.

Merlin righted Arthur, and Arthur felt as warm as he did sitting near the crackling bonfire last night. Because, while he had no blood-relatives left, he had never felt more loved and had never felt more a part of a family than he did now.

And when they stood by him in their own unique ways, no amount of oath-breakers could make him think any differently.

"I can't wait for tomorrow," Hunith said, leaning back.

"Why?" Gaius asked. "Because of the breakfast?"

Her diabolical grin rivaled Merlin's, and she nodded. "I've been waiting a long time to share some of these stories."

"About Merlin?" Arthur asked hopefully.

Merlin groaned and made a face at his mother, answering Arthur's question for her.

Arthur smirked. "This'll certainly prove to be an interesting breakfast."

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you so much for your support, everyone! Thank you for continuing to read, favorite, alert, and review my other works. :)<p>


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